Lady of the Rings
by Brandy Dewinter and Ellen Hayes
(All rights reserved)
Chapter 5 - A Model, I'm Not
Build: 12
No brass rings! I was sure I had the riddle figured out. It had
to be here in the circus, at the carousel. I could feel a hint of magic
in the area, like a faint scent from an exotic perfume. Most of the time
at Andreas' castle, I'd seen magic, not smelled it, but this seemed more
like a whiff of something in the air than a definite image. The ring had
to be around here. Dear God, please let it be around here. And, God,
don't make me have to sniff around like I thought I was a bloodhound or
something.
I guess my dismay must have showed and Chandler was immediately
concerned.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," my quiet tones gave the lie to my answer. "I'm fine. I
guess I better get to the costume trailer."
"Good idea," Jim nodded. "Sarah can fix whatever ails you. She's
a miracle worker."
I stumbled to a nearby trailer with wash hanging from lines spi-
dering out in all directions. Inside, there was a small space with a
table that clearly lowered to make a bed, a single easy chair, a thousand
costumes, and the older lady I had seen before.
"Come on in, Brittany. I've been expecting you."
I knew I was still staggering around in shock from finding out I
hadn't really solved the riddle. It seemed so right, though! If not
the circus and the carousel, I didn't even know where to start. My
preoccupation made me miss the first things that Sarah said.
"Bree?" I almost looked around to see who she was talking to
before I realized that the sort of casual friendship around the circus
would require something other than a three-syllable name. Then I
realized she had been saying something else as well.
"I'm sorry. What else did you ask?"
"I said, what size are you?" she repeated.
"Um, I, uh, don't know."
"Lose a little weight lately?" she said with that twinkle back in
her eyes.
"Um, maybe?" I haven't had this body more than twelve hours!
"Maybe what's there just moved around a little? A bit of a late
bloomer?" Now she was grinning big time. "Those jeans look a bit snug in
the hips..." Well, hell, it wasn't because I bought them too small...
If she'd held a branding iron to my cheeks, they wouldn't have been
any hotter. I knew, at some level, that I had still been trying to deny
what had happened to me. I was paranoid about being found out, espe-
cially by men, though I didn't even know what found out meant in this
crazy situation. Having this woman poke fun at me because of what had
happened, well, I knew it wasn't malicious, but it was too much. For the
third time that day, which was also the third time in about ten years, I
broke down in tears.
Sarah's arms were around me even as my own came up to hide my face.
She held me as great, wracking sobs shook my shoulders. My throat had
choked up too badly to even bawl, I just cried in desperate silence,
gasping for breath.
"There, there, it's going to be all right. We'll take care of you.
You'll be safe with us."
I know that was meant to help, the words were standard. But it
didn't help. I didn't want to be safe with the circus. I wanted to
finish this terrible quest nightmare and get back to being Steve. After
a while, partly because I was getting too short on breath to sustain the
intensity, I began to calm down. She shepherded me to the easy chair
and made me sit, then handed me a towel to wipe my face.
"Now, tell me all about it," she suggested. I couldn't, though.
Who would believe me? Before that piece of shit Andreas had kidnapped
me, I wouldn't have believed it. I was trying to get myself back under
control and was too stressed out to come up with a good lie, so I just
shook my head.
"How about if I tell you, then?" she offered. Like she knew.
"You ran away from home. You had some things, but they got stolen,
probably by somebody that scared you. And now you don't have anything
but what you're wearing. You need the job, but aren't sure you can do
whatever you'll be asked to do. Still, you won't call home because
whatever made you run away still hurts too bad. No one in the world has
ever been as alone as you are right now. How'm I doing so far?"
Well, she got the part about no one else ever being as alone as I
was. Even amnesiacs had people that remembered their faces. I hadn't
even existed in this body yesterday. Other than that, though, she was
pretty far off base.
Or maybe not. It was really a pretty good cover story. It ex-
plained everything neatly, a lot more neatly than the truth. I nodded,
still not looking at her.
"Now, let me tell you the only part of what I said that was really
wrong," she continued. "That's the part about being alone. You're not
even especially unusual." Oh, ho, wanna bet? "We get runaways in here
at every stop we make. Mostly girls, mostly hungry. Mostly broke. I
know what you're going through. That's how I ended up in the circus
myself."
Well, her batting average was just about perfect. She took the
only right part and now said it was wrong, compounding it by saying I
wasn't even unusual. If she only knew! Still the typical story she was
laying out must be credible, so I decided I might as well go with it. I
nodded again.
Somehow, listening to her talk had helped me get myself together. I
still didn't have any idea what to do about solving the riddle, but
taking care of some of my other problems was progress and Sarah offered
help I really needed. When I looked up to finally meet her eyes again,
the twinkle was back. I knew she wasn't laughing at me. She was just so
sure she could help that it made her feel good.
Brusquely, with cheerful energy, she ordered, "Alright, hon, now
stand up and I'll measure you for your costume."
She took the obligatory seamstress tape measure from a pocket and
wrapped it around my . . . bust, first just under my . . . tits, and
then across the . . . points. God, this was hard to accept. I just
couldn't get my mind to accept . . . them.
I couldn't see the number on it, but it was obviously disappointing
to her, "Hmm, we'll have to help you a little bit there, dear."
Not on a bet! But she was already measuring my waist and at least
this seemed to meet her approval. She wrapped the tape around my wide
bottom, announcing that one measurement, "Not bad, dear, only a 36. I
wish I were still that trim."
Trim? I felt huge. Though, come to think of it, so did my tits
and she thought they were inadequate. Whatever was right for this female
body just didn't compute within my internal perceptions. Neither did my
balance. I used to be pretty agile, but I felt like I was about to tip
over with each motion, or over-torque and spin out. The only redeeming
characteristic of this body was that it felt fairly limber. I felt I
could just about tie myself into a knot. That thought brought a grin to
my face as I envisioned that bastard Andreas twisted into an interesting
pretzel.
Sarah caught the grin and thought it was because I was proud of this
awful body. Well, for a girl it would have been okay, I guess, but it
was still awful to me.
Now she gave orders, gently phrased, but orders nonetheless, "Okay,
Bree, go back through the clothes. There's a small changing room. Take
off everything. There won't be room for underwear under your costume.
I'll pick out the right one and bring it to you."
I forced my way through the racks of gaudy outfits and found as
promised a small room, well, a cubicle. There wasn't much privacy but
at least the walls kept the clothes out of my face as I undressed. I
was glad there wasn't a mirror.
A hand appeared over the cubicle wall, a sparkly costume hanging
down from the wiggling fingers, "Here, dear, here's your costume. If
you need any help, just let me know."
When she felt me tug on it, she let go and I could see the clothes
sway as she made her way back toward the door of the trailer. That let
me examine the costume in private, and I needed it. I almost screamed
when I realized what she intended for me to wear. Why bother! There
wasn't enough of it to hide anything! A part of me, the leftover male
part of me, knew that was exactly the point. Now, faced with the pros-
pect of having to WEAR it, it was obscene.
There were two pairs of stockings, or tights, or whatever you call
the things that are all one piece. One pair was more or less flesh-
toned, though so shiny they looked like they'd been knitted from gold
foil. The second set was of black fishnet right out of every burlesque
show ever staged. There were several more parts to the costume, which
seemed like they should be enough but they weren't. The only piece that
mattered was a stretchy one-piece swimsuit-like thing (a leotard?) in
gaudy red, white, and blue colors. It was obviously too small, by about
six sizes. The only other pieces were gloves with flashy cuffs, a top hat
right off an Uncle Sam poster, an oh-so-cute little tuxedo jacket with
tails, and a red ribbon that I figured was for my hair.
"Sarah!" I called.
No answer.
"Sarah!" louder. I am not going to panic, I told myself.
Still no answer. I figured I could either get dressed in my jeans
again, or try the outfit on. I also figured she'd only believe me when
she saw how small the stupid things were so I sat on the tiny bench and
started trying to get those tights up my legs.
Christ, how did women put these things on? A dim memory of Mom
pulling all of a pair of pantyhose onto her feet surfaced and I tried
that. They were a hell of a lot tighter than socks. It took me a couple
of sweaty minutes to get the waistband up to my waist. The things
gripped like leeches and if I didn't get them evenly tensioned, you could
tell because the color was uneven. I noticed I had no leg hair at all.
I hoped that was a permanent thing; I had no interest in shaving my legs.
When I got the opaque ones up to my waist, I put the fishnets on as
well. They were merely inconvenient, even a little uncomfortable when I
stood on them in my bare feet.
Then there was the leotard thing. It seemed stretchy enough, though
I knew it would fit like paint when I had it on. I almost got it on
backwards, until I realized that the thinner part went to the back. The
damn thing was butt floss. The so-called costume had two wires buried in
it that ran under my tits and a small amount of padding that seemed sort
of useless until I got the top pulled up. All of the sudden I had
cleavage. Lots of cleavage. And it all showed.
At least there were a couple of flaps hanging down on my jacket,
like tails on a tuxedo, to cover my exposed cheeks. The gloves and hat
were easy, though I had to take my hair out of the rubber band that
Jackie had given me. I was trying to get the ribbon tied around it when
I saw a rustle in the clothes racks.
"Sarah, are you there?"
"Yes, dear, how's it going?"
Deer in the headlights. "Not good, this costume is too small."
"Let me see," she directed, so I walked out of the cubicle and to
the open area at the front of the trailer.
Those damn flaps swished when my wide bottom swayed, and my hips
just wouldn't seem to move any other way. It made my feel more naked
than when I really was undressed.
Sarah's twinkle was back in full force. I wanted to hate that
smile, but she was just too cheerful and kindly looking to hold my anger.
"Oh, Brinny, you look terrific! It fits just fine."
"It's too tight," I complained again as I fumbled with that stupid
ribbon, trying to get it in my hair. If anybody else called me "Brinny,"
blood would flow.
"Not at all. It's perfect. You'll have the customers panting as
much as the dogs in the act."
Like I wanted that. I was about to have a complete shitfit when
she rolled over my concern with typical nonchalance.
"Now, do you know how to put on stage makeup?"
"What?" Makeup! No way! My denial showed in my face, like it
seemed everything did, at least to this woman. Once again she misinter-
preted my dismay.
"You haven't worn makeup much, have you?" she asked gently. I
could have said no to that, but she didn't pause for an answer. "I told
you though, that you're not really that unique. I already figured you
for a late bloomer. I'll bet for most of your life you felt you looked
more like a boy than a girl." Oh, was it the penis that gave it away?
Damn straight I did! She continued, "The other girls started growing
out, showing curves, and all you did was grow taller. Your first secret
experiments with makeup made you look like a clown, as all girls do, and
you gave up before you learned how so you think it's hopeless."
"Um." I had to admit, I did give up on wearing makeup before I
learned how. She'd gotten that part right... "Yeah, basically..."
"Well, a little work, and we can turn you into a beauty," she smiled
at me.
I was less than enthused. "Look, I, I mean, I'm not that fond of
makeup, the whole idea I mean. I'm not a fashion model or anything."
"No, you're not," Sarah said flatly. I glanced up at her in sur-
prise because she had been so encouraging so far.
"Models and all those 'pretty' girls look good for a few years,
then go downhill fast. You've got a different kind of beauty. You'll
never be supermodel pretty, but you could be elegantly beautiful in a
way that millions of women would envy. And you'll keep it longer. When
the Claudia Schiffers of the world are considering facelifts, you'll
still be making heads snap. Frankly, I'm envious. I had 'pretty' and
now I'm the crazy costume lady. I wish I looked as good as I know you
will when you're my age."
I didn't know what she was talking about. Sarah was okay looking,
I guessed. She had her hair up in a bun and didn't wear any makeup her-
self so I could see lines at the corners of her eyes and at her mouth.
They seemed to get swallowed up when she smiled, which was pretty often,
so I hadn't really noticed until she got a little solemn. I knew my face
was a lot thinner than hers, with sharper lines in my nose and cheeks and
chin. Maybe that was what she was talking about.
Not that it mattered, I thought as I shook myself back into being
sensible. As soon as I get this stupid quest over with, I'm going back
to being a man.
I still hadn't gotten that damn ribbon wrapped around my hair, and
now it was Sarah's time to rouse from her introspection with a visible
shake and reach for it.
"No dear, that's not for your hair, it's for your neck, as a choker.
Your hair needs to be put up to fit under your hat. Let me help, then
I'll help you with your makeup."
She was back to bustling efficiency in a heartbeat. The red ribbon
adorned my neck, somehow drawing more attention to the cleavage the suit
revealed - no, flaunted.
"Now, that's better," she twinkled. I was trying hard to hate that
twinkle, but it just wouldn't come. Looking down I realized that I had
lost sight of my feet.
Her glance followed mine, her grin got even bigger, but she noticed
my bare feet, too.
"What size are your shoes, dear?" At least I had noticed that
inside my hiking shoes, 8B.
When I told her, she nodded. "One thing about red, white, and blue
outfits, we've accumulated several pairs of boots that fit with those
colors. Here."
She handed me a pair of by-God go-go boots right from the sixties,
clunky heel (short, thank God) and glove tight to the knee, in bright
white patent. I shouldn't have been surprised. Why wouldn't the boots
be just as gaudy as everything else?
Sarah's arms were already guiding me to one of the seats at the
table. In another moment, she had a tool box, or tackle box, or something
and was sitting down across from me.
"Okay, for the costume tryout I'll just show you the stage makeup.
Later, though, I want you back in here so I can show you daytime looks
and dinner date looks, you hear?" she demanded cheerfully.
In your dreams, lady. There was no way I was wearing makeup unless
I had to, and this job was getting less and less desirable all the time.
As an "undocumented worker" it might be this job or starve, but that was
getting to be a tough choice.
I didn't understand enough of what she was doing to keep up with
her running commentary. Nor did I care. Suffice it to say I was painted
in a range of gunk that made my face feel like it was hidden behind a
mask. If you get the idea I didn't particularly enjoy the experience,
you're right, except maybe the idea of a mask wasn't so bad.
"There, finished," she smiled. Did she always have to end every
sentence with a smile? "Let's go outside where you can see yourself in
the big mirror."
She took me by the hand and dragged me out into the open, where
everyone could see. Joy. Joy. Joy. I tried to duck my head but she
wouldn't let me. When she had me in front of the mirror she moved my
body parts around with casual indifference, as though I were a store
dummy.
Dummy is right, but I still did what I was told, or made to do,
standing straighter, head up, shoulders back (so those damn enhanced
tits waved around like flags), hips swayed to one side, hand on one hip,
the other one lightly patting at my hair. I felt like I should be
looking for the Penthouse photographer.
A clank from over by the carousel drew our attention. Jim Chandler
had dropped a wrench. He wasn't picking it up, though. He was just
staring over at us. Well, at me. I felt like a side of beef in a
freezer, and he was a Doberman with very, very, carnal thoughts on his
mind. It was too much. I fled back into the trailer.
Sarah followed, quiet for once, or at least not bubbling with
energy. She still had to talk, of course. "Ah, well, this is where
most people would ask about your background to see why a man's interest
frightens you like that. But I won't. Been there, done that, and know
enough not to ask. Jim's a nice guy. He wouldn't hurt anyone, let alone
a lonely girl. Most of the guys around here are like that. If not, they
get taught a very painful lesson by one of my friends and then get sent
packing. Just stay away from Sam, his tastes don't run toward your
look anyway. Jim, and Tom Highland, Ivan the Terrible (who was that?),
they'll watch out for you."
Back to brusqueness, "Now, get on back to Tom. He has to approve
your costume. There won't be any problem, you look gorgeous. After
he's seen you, come back here and change, okay?" And with that, she
bustled me out of the door.
The door shut on the trailer, and I was alone. And half naked.
And painted up. And outside.
I closed my eyes, and took two deep breaths in an attempt to calm
myself before I realized that I was standing on the steps and therefore
much more visible. "Oh, fuck," I said as I dashed for the weeds.
I was already panting and trying to catch my breath as I scanned
around, looking for anyone who might have seen me. Luckily, Jim had
gone somewhere else.
Unluckily, I had more than half the circus to go through before I
reached Tom's trailer. And Sarah had my pants.
It took me a couple of minutes of fierce mental wrestling with
myself before I could even begin to think about walking over there.
Basically, I told myself, I didn't have much of a choice. I had to get
the rings to finish the quest and get back to Andreas, the first one was
here, and I had to get a job anyway.
Right.
And it wasn't like I was really naked, either. I was pretty much
covered. I'd worn less for PE class.
Yeah.
And it was obvious I was a performer, not just some kid looking for
a thrill. I mean, nobody would go around in something like this of their
own free will. So I had to be one of the carnies, and I therefore had to
be off limits. And Sarah wouldn't have stuck me in this if it wasn't
commonplace, either.
Sure.
That must've been why I was panting like one of the dogs.
When I had enough of a lock on my rampaging fear, I started walking
as calmly as I could. Something I had learned a long time ago: look
like you're afraid, and the predators can smell it and they'll go after
you. I kept telling myself that as I walked and saw my first people, a
mother and three kids. They all looked, but then something else caught
their attention and they all looked away. I was watching the mother's
face and she hadn't looked shocked or anything. Maybe I was over-
reacting. Maybe it wasn't as bad as-
"Uh!" said the guy I ran into. I bounced off him and he grabbed
my arms to steady himself. We both started to apologize, but when he
got a look at me, his face... changed. "Well, hi there!" he said drip-
ping with false sincerity. "Where have you been all my life?" And
he didn't let go.
I stammered the first thing that came to my mind, "Uh, look, I'm
late so I gotta-" I couldn't pull loose.
"No, wait, hold on a second," he drawled, "You look kind of over-
heated, let me buy you a drink." He still hadn't let go of my arms.
I tried taking a step backwards, and didn't go anywhere. "No, look
really I have to-"
"Oh, come on," he smiled, "you can be a couple of minutes late."
He bared his teeth at me, and right then he looked exactly like one of
Giger's aliens about to rip my face off, except I knew I wouldn't get
off that easy.
"Let go of me!" I warned. This was usually the point when smart
kids backed off.
He just smiled, and then did something which I wouldn't have
believed if I hadn't been there. He deliberately, and with malice,
pulled me against his body and rubbed until I could sense that he had
an erection.
I couldn't understand what was going on for a second because I
had once again forgotten what kind of body I was in. When it all came
back to me, it was as if my brain just seized up with panic, because I
KNEW what he wanted to do to me...
Spinal reflex took over as I slid my arms between us and burst
outwards, breaking his hold on my arms, and took a step backwards. He
took another step forwards, and without much conscious thought because
I was out of my mind with fear at that point, I slammed a palm into his
face and ran for the trailer.
I heard a thud behind me, and muffled cursing, but I thought I
could make it to the trailer before he could recover. It was the longest
fifteen seconds of my life... I fully expected to be grabbed from behind,
tossed on the ground, and raped to death.
I made the four steps up the stairs without even slowing down and
blew through the door, slamming it behind me. "Jesus!" exclaimed Sarah,
"What on earth?!"
I was safe. SAFE. Oh, God... I couldn't breathe, I couldn't
catch my breath, my heart was slamming inside my chest and I couldn't
get enough air into my lungs... he would have raped me, I knew it, the
look in his eyes was the worst thing I've ever seen in my entire life,
because he didn't even care, he was going to, going to-
When I felt hands on my arm, I think I screamed but I stood up
swiftly and in one quick motion grabbed one of his wrists and twisted
as I took a step back, ready to slam a kick under his arm and dislocate
his shoulder before I spun and snapped his neck. But it was Sarah and
I'd almost broken her arm.
"Bree?" she gasped. If she hadn't frozen at the same time, I think
I would have hit her anyway, out of sheer reaction.
I let go of her wrist, but I couldn't do anything else except stare
at her and try to breathe.
"Brittany," she said slowly, after a few seconds, "what happened?"
Suddenly, my legs couldn't support me and I collapsed right in front of
her. It was too much for me, the terror and the feeling that I was
dying, I couldn't stand it any more.
(
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